


Date Night

by AustenlySummers



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Literature, M/M, Romance, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustenlySummers/pseuds/AustenlySummers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning for language and mild sexual themes.  <br/>Spain and Romano go on a date.  Hope you enjoy.  </p>
    </blockquote>





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for language and mild sexual themes.    
> Spain and Romano go on a date.  Hope you enjoy.  

    "Is this a real date, or am I just meeting you in the restaurant so you can fuck me in the bathroom?"    
    There was a pause followed by a hesitant, "No."    
    "No what?  No it's not a real date or...?"  
    "It's a real date."  
    A brief silence fell between them.  Romano fiddled with the cuff of his shirtsleeves and muttered, "You know if you wanted to do it that fucking badly--"  
    "I'm not looking for sex.  I just want to go out on a nice date with you."    
    Romano did not look convinced.  Spain sighed.  He had a suspicion Romano would have thought his offer at romance would be some ploy for sex.  But it wasn't.  Spain just wanted to spend time with him.  Alone.  Together.  In an environment hat didn't involve any sexual encounter.  Just them and their conversation.  Perhaps what he was looking for wasn't _them_ , but it didn't stop Spain from asking.  Romano plucked irritably at an unraveling string on his shirt.  Spain noted softly, "I'm sorry that I asked; I just thought maybe we could--"  
    "No, it's fine.  I'll go."    
    "Wait...really?"  Spain perked up at the other's somewhat reluctant agreement.    
    "Yeah, really, what are you?  Deaf?"  The Italian let out a breathy huff of annoyance and stood from the table.    
    Spain scrambled to his feet after him.  "When do you want to go?  Do you care where?  Somewhere fancy?"  He had expected Romano to say no and leave it at that.  But now that he had agreed...  
    "I don't care.  Just fucking pick somewhere," Romano huffed.    
    "Oh...alright," Spain responded, nodding agreeably.  He was excited and nervous and overwhelmed by the situation now presented to him.  "Do you care if we--"  
    "No.  I don't fucking care.  Now leave me alone, I have work to do."    
    The Italian stormed off in a rage Spain didn't understand, but he let him go, focusing on the task at hand.  He was going to take Romano-- _Romano!_ \--on a date.  He could barely contain his joy.  As he brainstormed various options of settings and scenarios, Spain briefly noted how wonderful it would be to finally make this step.  It wasn't like he and Romano weren't already romantically involved.  It was just as Romano had previously mentioned though.  Their 'dates' almost always consisted of meeting somewhere, having a drink, then jumping to the nearest restroom or vacant alley for rough, mindless sex before going home and never speaking of it again.  Spain never thought of it as bad, but he wanted so much more with the adorable Italian.    
    Spain decided to make the date for later that week, a Friday when both he and Romano would be free from work and meetings and could enjoy a hopefully romantic and relaxing evening together.  Spain was smiling to himself just thinking about it.  They had reservations for six at a little Italian restaurant near Spain's place.  He imagined him pulling out Romano's chair for him, gazing at him through the smoky film of a candlelit dinner, sipping Italian wine--though not as good as his own, of course--and enjoying the sheer beauty of the situation.  Spain was so caught up in this fantasy he didn't hear Romano enter the kitchen once more.    
    "I'm going home, bastard."    
    "...huh?  What?"    
    "I said I'm going home.  Learn to listen, dumb-ass."  Romano pulled on his coat and headed for the door.    
    "You're not staying the night?"    
    Romano glared at him and replied, "No."  
    Spain frowned slightly, but didn't press further.  He merely requested, "Call me so I know you got home safe."    
    "What are you, my goddamn mother?"    
    Spain couldn't help but smile.  "I have dinner reservations at six for Friday.  Dress nice."    
    "Fuck you."   
    "I love you too, Lovi."    
    And with that, the Italian was gone.  Spain didn't hear from him again until Friday evening.    
    He was starting to get worried when Romano refused to return his calls or answer his voicemails.  He had considering calling Italy to assure himself that Romano was okay, but just as he contemplated the idea, his phone rang and the caller ID brought happy news.  Spain answered with a slightly breathless, "Romano!  Why didn't you--"  
    "Shut up, bastard.  What do you want me to wear to this fucking restaurant?"    
    Spain faltered a moment before easily adjusting to the Italian's brash demeanor.  He answered, "Anything nice.  I'm wearing a dress shirt and tie..."  
    "That's bullshit."    
    "...yeah, well do you have a better idea?"    
    Silence.    
    "That's what I thought.  Are you coming over soon?  I don't want to be late."  
    After another brief interlude of silence Romano muttered, "I'm coming, don't rush me," and hung up.    
    Just as he said, Romano arrived at Spain's doorstep about twenty minutes later.  He had long forgone knocking, casually letting himself into the Spaniard's house.  While Spain was still upstairs getting ready, Romano slipped onto a bar stool and waited for the other nation.  Minutes later the Spaniard wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen where Romano was sitting.  The couple locked gazes.  
    "Holy shit, Lovi, you clean up good," Spain noted with a whistle, sounding suspiciously like a certain American.    
    Romano blushed and looked away with an angry huff of exasperation and disbelief.  "Fuck off," he muttered in response.    
    "Can't.  You're stuck with me for the next few hours."    
    "If I hate this I'm going home," Romano warned him.    
    "Alright," Spain replied with a grin.  But he was smiling because he knew Romano wouldn't be going anywhere.  
    Romano frowned at him.  Spain continued to grin.  He passed the Italian and told him, "Come on.  I want this night to last as long as possible."    
    "Fucking romantic."    
    "You love it," Spain retorted cheerfully.  
    "No, I don't!" Romano protested, but Spain didn't listen to his argument.  The two continued their usual harmless bickering all the way to the restaurant, even as they entered the extravagantly decorated lobby and were asked to remain waiting for their host to seat them.  Romano scowled at the elegance of the venue.  "This place sucks..." he mumbled under his breath.    
    "I think it's beautiful," Spain countered.    
    "This is the kind of place rich bitches get married in," Romano pointed out.  "I would have rather you dragged me to some shitty bar than this--"  
    "Reservations for Antonio Carriedo?"    
    "Yes," Spain spoke up, cutting off Romano in the middle of his sentence.  Romano scowled at him.  
    The couple followed the hostess through the dimly lit restaurant to their table for two.  A single candle illuminated the space between them.    
    "Here..." Spain moved to help Romano into his chair.  Romano slapped him away and muttered, "I can sit down myself, idiot."    
    Spain frowned slightly but let him sit and moved to the other side of the table.  He opened his menu and scanned through the contents.   
    "Can I get you anything to start off with?  Wine?"    
    "Dolcetto."    
    Spain blinked up at Romano as the Italian answered for them.  The waitress nodded and jotted down the order before scurrying off to retrieve the requested wine.    
    "Dolcetto?" Spain repeated.    
    Romano nodded without any verbal response.    
    "I've never tried it.  ...good?" he ventured.  
    "If it wasn't I wouldn't have ordered it, idiot."    
    Spain shrugged, willing to give most anything a try once.  His gaze flitted back to the menu.  He paused before asking, "Know what you're getting?"    
    Romano shrugged and answered, "Yeah, sure."  He closed the menu and set it on the table.  The waitress came back minutes later with their wine.    
    "Are you two ready to order?" she asked after pouring them glass fulls of alcohol.    
    They were.  As the waitress left them alone once more, Spain brought the wine glass to his lips and took a sip.  It was delicious.   
    "Mmm, you were right, Lovi.  It's good."    
    "Told you," the Italian replied as he sipped his own wine.  He set his glass back on the table and shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair.  He glanced around the candle lit room then back at Spain.    
    "Too fancy for you?" Spain inquired teasingly, noting the other man's obvious discomfort.    
    "Maybe I just don't like the fucking ridiculous atmosphere, asshole."    
    Spain quirked an eyebrow and reminded him, "You know I did ask if you had any preferences--"  
    "I didn't think you'd bring me--"  
    "Excuse me, but you could you please lower your voices?  People are trying to eat in peace," someone from a nearby table interrupted.    
    Romano scowled but Spain apologized profusely to the the coupe before turning his attention back to Romano.  He told him, "You really don't get out much, do you?"  
    "What?  Of course I do!" the Italian countered.  The woman who had just snapped at them cast him a dirty look.  He lowered his voice to an angry whisper and told Spain, "I just don't go to places like this."    
    "You don't like it then?"    
    "No," Romano answered firmly.    
    "But the food's good," Spain protested.    
    "So's your cooking."    
    "Are you suggesting...?"  
    "I already told you, I don't like doing this sort of thing."    
    "But why not?"    
    "Toni."  Romano said his name very seriously and very pointedly.  "It's not us.  You don't need to dress me up and take me out to tell me you love me.  When you pass out and people ask me what the cause of death was, I'll tell them you died from stupidity."  He took another swig from his wine glass and noted primly, "I hope you're not so stupid you don't try to follow me when I tell you I'm going to use the restroom."    
    A grin lit up the Spaniard's face.  He watched as Romano stood from the table, disappearing through the sea of tables and booths towards the back.  Perhaps it wasn't them, this arguably needless gesture of affection, but Spain couldn't help but chuckle at Romano's insistence.  The Italian didn't need this to feel loved.  He knew it, and Spain knew it, and they showed each other--in their unique individual ways--how much they cared every day.  Spain waited a moment, finishing his wine with a gulp, before he stood and followed after Romano.  The small bathroom was empty and silent save for the barely stifled heavy breathing from the far stall.  Spain pushed open the door to find his lovely Italian pressed against the wall, waiting none too patiently for Spain.  He closed his eyes and breathed out, "W--what took you so long, bastard?"    
    "Nothing," Spain murmured, stepping into the cramped space and locking the door behind him.  "Here, Lovi...let me help you with that...."    
    Spain's words were broken by a deep kiss from the Italian.  "Don't talk, just fuck me already."  
    Spain chuckled through their kiss.  "Eager are we?  Alright, but when we get home I'm doing this properly."    
    "Whatever, just hurry up already."    
    Spain couldn't help but grin.  Yes, this was definetely them.  Here without the wine and roses and candles and nothing but each other.  Spain murmured into Romano's ear, "I love you..."  only to have it returned with a soft, slightly muffled, "I love you too."        


End file.
